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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23955988">At the Rex</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor'>Goodneighbor_Neighbor (Fan_by_Proxy)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Barebacking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hotel Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Making Love, Penis In Vagina Sex, Sloppy Makeouts, Vaginal Fingering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:16:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,596</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23955988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yvette, the Sole Survivor, returns from the Institute a broken-hearted woman, heading for Goodneighbor because it almost feels like home at this point.  Hancock's on the scene to provide comfort and more, and the two finally put words to their feelings, and feelings to their actions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>At the Rex</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    That Yvette hadn’t come to see him, had <em>paid</em> for a room at the Rex rather than come and see him…<em>oh </em>that cut damn deep. He’d honestly thought…well he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d honestly thought, but Hancock had <em>figured</em> when she got back, she’d come to him. After everything they’d been through? After all the glances and the touching and that <em>kiss</em> before she’d stepped onto that sparking platform?! But no, no, she’d come back and <em>paid </em>for a room instead of coming to him. Just mulling on that point was starting to make the room go red; it wasn’t doing him any good. He’d given her a day, a whole goddamn day to give him some sign and no word came. So <em>now,</em> it was the time to get to his feet, saunter right up to her room like he was expected, and find out just <em>where the hell</em> he stood with her now.</p><p> </p><p>    “Good, you’re here.” Claire snapped by way of preamble when Hancock reached her at the desk.</p><p>    Well that wasn’t any good; Claire didn’t give out room numbers on a whim, didn’t even like giving them to him without a <em>damn</em> good reason or clearance beforehand. “Hit me with it.” he said, anger keying into that kind of awareness that usually only came with too much Jet or walking into a Raider setup.</p><p>    “Upstairs, 229--paid extra for the running water again. Like a damn zombie and I don’t think it’s drugs…she looks like she’s lost <em>everything</em> Hancock but she wouldn’t say a word about it. Didn’t even say to let you up, but I’m doing it cuz when I asked her what was up, she said she couldn’t say--didn’t sound a goddamn thing like herself. Polite sure, like always, but about a million miles away and flat as Marowski’s ass.” Claire shook her head. “So then I told her not to blow her brains out in one of my rooms since we just lost one of the cleaning girls, and she just…” This time Claire pursed her lips and cast a look around before leaning closer to Hancock. “Just nods; I ain’t heard a shot but I swear to God if she’s opened a vein in my damn tub…” the diatribe came out in a low sharp hiss that had Fred checking the Drinking Buddy for leaks.</p><p>    If he hadn’t been on edge before, Claire’s overwhelming concern would’ve done it--as it stood, Hancock was now practically vibrating with anxiety. “Thanks Claire.” he managed to force out in something like a normal voice. “Bet it’s just been a long run; you know she gets pretty spacey when she’s about to drop.”</p><p>    “Yeah,” Claire snorted derisively, “and I’m gonna go be a dancin’ girl at the Rail.”</p><p>    “I’d pay to see it.” Hancock replied with a grin and a wink before heading for the stairs. Took the first flight at a regular pace, but as soon as he hit the next landing he was taking them two at a time, practically throwing himself up them and along the hall to get to 229.</p><p> </p><p>    His heart was racing, hands shaking, nerves screaming for a hit of <em>anything</em> to blunt this edge. Pressing his cheek to the door, he listened and couldn’t hear anything. Not that that really meant much; 229 was one of the rooms that had a good solid door still, one of the more expensive rooms with its mostly solid furniture and running water access. He forced himself to move slow, watching his fingers curl into a fist, counting in his head and knocking with the knuckles instead of beating on the door. “Hey beautiful, it’s me.”</p><p>    If she opened the door right now, she’d get the side of his head, but Hancock couldn’t peel himself away from the door, couldn’t stop straining to catch any noise, any sign of life. “Yvette? It’s John. C’mon beautiful, lemme in.”</p><p>    There was a faint noise, a creak of the floorboard nearby. He thought about dropping down to see her shadow move, her toes at the door, any sign of life. Thankfully, she answered before he dropped into total un-dignity. “<em>Jean?”</em></p><p>    The way she said his name got him <em>every</em> goddamn time. “Open the door sweetheart.” he said, softer than the earlier pleas.</p><p>    “<em>Jean</em>…” at the end of his name, a squeak. Maybe a sob?</p><p>    Hancock was about to throw himself into the door, kick it open, when he heard the lock turn. There was just enough time to straighten his hat and try to not look like he’d been trying to become one with the wood. “<em>There</em> you are--” he started, smile falling off his face like it was another part of him breaking off.</p><p>    Yvette stood with the door barely open, looking just as bad as Claire had said--like she’d lost <em>everything</em>. Beautiful blue-green eyes rimmed red and guarded by deep violet bags beneath, shoulders low under the too-big shirt and hair like the end of a noose hanging over one; barefoot and unarmed and trembling. <em>Trembling</em>. “<em>Jean</em>…” she repeated.</p><p>    Hancock shouldered his way in, closing the door behind him with his heel because his hands were too busy reaching out, too busy pulling her to him. This was the Glowing Sea all over again; only this time Nicky wasn’t here to help drag her back to them. Her arms went around him fast and hard, taking his breath away with her clinging; her fingers gripped and pulled and the seam at his shoulder gave a little more. She buried her face in his chest and <em>that</em> was when Hell broke loose.</p><p>    Yvette wailed. She screamed. She sobbed, and the tears were hot and fast and too many; all he could do was stand there and let her have this. Stand there, and try to be the strong one, try not to lose his goddamn mind for not knowing what had pushed her this far this time. Hancock didn’t bother to coo, or try to rock, or rub her back, or anything tender. He wondered, dimly, if that wouldn’t help? But she’d told him once, in a much lesser fit, that she felt like she was drowning; that was why she held on so hard. It had sort of made sense at the time--hang onto whatever was familiar when everything else was gone.</p><p>    So he stood firm, arms around, only moving to press his mouth to her head. Silken hair and sweaty skin against his mouth, and not a twitch from his pants. All of his energy, his thoughts, were focused on being the solid real thing for her to hang on and keep from drowning and goddamn it, he wasn’t going to disappoint.</p><p>    After forever (or maybe just ten minutes later), Yvette’s face turned towards his mouth. She was panting, short ragged breaths that hitched and rocked them both. Now Hancock could kiss her forehead, and he did without preamble or question. She would talk when she was ready; all he had to do was <em>be there</em> for her.</p><p>    Another long, shuddering breath, and then her grip on his back loosened, hands sliding down and around to his waist before she raised her head and let him go. “Oh <em>Jean</em>…I am lost. Everything I did, and it was only for nothing.” she whispered, eyes watery again.</p><p>    Sometimes when she was tired, or upset, or excited, the words didn’t quite come out like good English; it was usually kind of sexy, especially when she was pissed and some of that old Frenchy talk came out between the oaths. Hancock kept his hands on, going from solid grip to cupping her face. Her cheeks were feverish and wet and soft. “I’m here for you, beautiful. I’m here.” he said softly. “Tell me everything.”</p><p>    She nodded, stepping back out of his grip and taking his hands to lead him to the bed to sit. Hancock took the few steps to try and catch his breath on the sly, slow his heart, get calm. Concentrated on the pressure from her warm, graceful fingers, the smoothness of her palm; things that belied how much work those beautiful hands could do, had done, would do. Only thing taking away from the feeling was a faint tremor that didn’t match her pulse. “How long’s it been since you ate, beautiful? Had a drink?”</p><p>    Yvette stared off, brow twitching slightly.</p><p>    “Can’t recall, can you?” he guessed.</p><p>    “I’m sorry.” she breathed.</p><p>    “Don’t be.” Hancock squeezed her hands to bring her attention back to him, gazing into those magnificent eyes. “You been through the ringer again. But it’s alright, cuz you got Hancock on your side,”</p><p>    She gave him a lopsided little smile, only dimpling one cheek. But it was something, and it made him feel <em>good</em>.</p><p>    “I’m gonna get us a bottle or two. Something hot to eat, and some of the stash. Gonna take care of you beautiful, you won’t even know how to handle it.” he said, trying to push the charm out thick. It was how he <em>was</em>, charming and irreverent. It was normal, and constant, and shallow as hell--</p><p>
  <em>    No it wasn’t but they could pretend together</em>
</p><p><em>    --</em>and she was used to it. “All you gotta do is sit here, and be beautiful.”</p><p>    “Alright <em>Jean</em>. Alright.” Yvette whispered, squeezing his fingers.</p><p>    Hancock leaned forward, kissing her smack between the brows. “Remember, just sit here,” <em>and don’t leave goddamn it, </em>“and I’ll be back before you know it.” He waited for her to nod again before slowly, reluctantly, letting go. He managed to keep his stride down to a stroll until the stair landing; then it was two-at-a-time, fast-as-he-could-manage-without-<em>actually-</em>running, to gather up what they might need.</p><p> </p><p>    As Hancock was rattling around his stores, things went from bad to worse.</p><p>    “You think you’re gonna be able to handle this?” Martin said, sitting on the couch with a wide spread.</p><p>    Of <em>all</em> the times for this particular hallucination to jump up! It had been quiet for a while, since a couple of days after Yvette stepped onto that crazy contraption to try and break into the boogeyman’s den. And knowing goddamn well that there was no dead man actually sitting in his house and busting his balls <em>never made it go away</em>. “Fuck off tonight,” Hancock muttered under his breath as he gathered, “not rattling me tonight.”</p><p>    “My son’s dead and my wife’s going to pieces, we’re both gonna be rattled.” the spectre replied. “Why don’t you just go ahead and do all that shit in your arms to yourself; you know you’re not equipped to deal with this kind of shit. Better to try and get Nicky, or Piper over here. Hell, even Magnolia’d be able to deal with these tears better than you.”</p><p>    Usually, when the insults cut deep and true, Hancock took a deeper hit of whatever was at hand. And the words did hurt…but his jacket had a damp spot and a new tear that murdered the junky urges hard. “Not wrong. Also not right.” Hancock hoisted the bag full onto his shoulder. “If you’re not gonna be helpful man, get the <em>fuck</em> off my couch and outta my head.” He stormed out of the room without a glance back; sometimes you just had to get real firm with the hallucinations to get them to back off for a while.</p><p> </p><p>    He was feeling a lot more confident on the second trip up to room 229. Well, not <em>a lot</em> more confident, but he had food, booze, chems, and a plan. And, upon opening the door and finding Yvette still sitting pretty on the edge of the bed, something like faith that he might be able to be a little help for a change.</p><p>    “Dare I ask?” she said softly, taking the greasy paper-wrapped meat from him.</p><p>    “Not any bug meat insofar as I can tell.” Hancock said as he set the bottles on the nightstand and started uncapping. “Beyond that--</p><p>    “Don’t ask, I remember.” she finished softly, giving him the half-dimpled smile again.</p><p>    Hancock nodded, going half-and-half whiskey and Nuka Cherry in the coffee cup before handing it over. As usual, she made him take half; Yvette didn’t eat in front of people, she ate <em>with</em> people. It was an old world thing, an old-fashioned twitch that sometimes made him crazy because it took up time; but after a month of lonely meals, Hancock relished it.</p><p>    She finished her portion, and the drink, and handed the coffee cup back. He kept the mix 50/50 and his own drink only a little stronger for now. A few more sips and she stopped trembling, flush in her cheeks already. She sighed.</p><p>    “Alright beautiful. Ready to hit me with it?” Hancock asked, shoulder to shoulder with her, savoring the warmth; his coat and hat neatly laid on the dresser and boots in front of the door. He was there to stay, he was there to listen, if he had to sit at her feet like a kid at story-time, then he would. Just as long as she trusted him and she’d talk to him.</p><p>    Yvette sighed again. “It was unreal <em>Jean</em>…I arrived in this space that was so white, so clean, so…so <em>cold</em>. And this voice on a loudspeaker talking to me, making introductions. It feels so much like a nightmare and a trap but I am walking and I am <em>going</em> to rescue my son.” she said fiercely.</p><p>    Hancock emptied his cup and left it on the nightstand, letting his arm creep around her back to rest his hand casually on her hip. To be there, and real, and solid; so she didn’t get lost in the nightmare.</p><p>    “Shaun…a ten year old boy behind glass, and he…” her voice broke, chest hitching as a sob burst out. She drank deeply before continuing. “He did not know me. He was afraid. He called for ‘Father’…and Father comes, and he looks<em>comme mon grandpère</em>…” Yvette paused and toasted the room, then emptied her cup before passing it to Hancock and giving a little nod of consent. The blush was to her ears and starting to creep down her neck.</p><p>    Hancock gave her straight whiskey, a little lost and confused but sensing from the faintness in her voice that it was not going to get easier for her to tell.</p><p>    She turned to face him fully. “Shaun behind the glass was <em>l</em><em>e </em><em>synthétique</em><em>…</em>they have made child synths.”</p><p>    Hancock hissed through his teeth, knowing he wore just as much horror on his face at this fact as she did. “You’re not fuckin’ serious.”</p><p>    She nodded, and drank. “Shaun is not a baby, not the children I have been chasing since I fell out of cryo--he is a 64 year old man, the head of <em>L’Institut</em>.” Yvette shook her head, horror and grief muddling on her face. “<em>Jean</em>…he called his father ‘an unfortunate casualty’. His father, murdered by a mad thug, and it is just an ‘unfortunate casualty’.” Her voice broke and fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut.</p><p>    Reeling, Hancock pulled her tight to him again, pressing his lips to her forehead and the top of her head. “Stay with me beautiful, stay with me.” he begged.</p><p>    “I’m here.” Yvette replied. “They stole my son away, and I cannot have him back.” she whispered brokenly.</p><p>    He shook his head. “I’m sorry…I’m <em>so</em> sorry.” What else was there to say?</p><p>    She emptied her cup again and declined another, face now fully flushed and eyes shining. “He wants--<em>they</em> want to replace the Commonwealth with their creations. He insists that to save mankind, it must all be replaced. We stood on the roof and looked out onto the Commonwealth, and he sees only the horror. It does not matter that people still live, still love, still dream, <em>still everything</em> in these precious pockets of the world.” Rage broke through the grief in her voice. “To them, we are all just…<em>unfortunate casualties</em> that have no place in their big pictures.” Yvette spat.</p><p>    It hit Hancock then that the Pip-Boy was nowhere in sight; her beautiful slim wrists were unburdened which meant the great hulking thing was in a drawer somewhere else. It was just them in this room, just them and the truth of things. Even Martin was silent. “What’s your plan, beautiful?” he managed to ask even though his mouth had gone dry. Fear wasn’t a good taste, but what the hell else were you supposed to feel when every boogeyman story just turned into reality?</p><p>    She swallowed, eyes searching his face much the same way she had when they first met. Like she was puzzling him out all over again, or maybe memorizing his features for one last time. That anxious, high-key, too-much-Jet feeling came back. Did he have her <em>that</em> wrong? Did he have <em>himself</em> that wrong?</p><p>    Then she leaned forward slowly until her forehead rested in the crook of his neck. “<em>Jean</em>, I have to stop him. I cannot let this happen. Humanity is not saved by this mad plan to seed the surface with synthetic puppets while they stay underground doing mad things. It is saved by us being alive, by changing, by growing…by taking the world back even if it takes a thousand years.”</p><p>    Stupid paranoia; it almost had him forget the thing that <em>really</em> made him hot for her. Even after all the bullshit; the Raiders, the shooting, the grime, the mess that was the end of the world, she just fucking <em>got it</em>. The thing that made Goodneighbor so good. “Of the people, for the people.” Hancock said softly.</p><p>    She nodded, nearly nuzzling him. “<em>Par des gens, pour des gens</em>.”</p><p>    “Love it when you talk that old world stuff.” The room was suddenly very dark, even with the old neon pouring through the window, the air within as staticky as if they were about to be slammed with a rad storm, but the sky was clear. His head was swimming and that was <em>never </em>what happened when he was properly coming down.</p><p>    “<em>Jean</em>?” Yvette said softly, sliding a hand up his chest and coming to rest on his neck, palm against his pulse.</p><p>    “Y-yeah, beautiful?”</p><p>    She pulled back a little, looking at him with a wild, new look. “I’m sorry, I love you.” she said simply, with a little shrug, before pulling him into a deep kiss.</p><p>    Whiskey burn and cherry sweetness flooded his mouth along with her tongue and Hancock growled. It wasn’t the right time, it wasn’t a <em>good time</em>, but she was climbing onto his lap and pressing against him and goddamn it if not now, then <em>when?!</em></p><p> </p><p>    Hancock gripped her hips, keeping her tight against him as he pushed back with his legs to get full onto the bed, smacking his head against the headboard for good measure; the pain was gone in an instant, brushed away by her hands as they roamed. She was petting his scalp, his face, down his neck and to his shoulders, rolling her hips like she was going to take him.</p><p>    It was a rare girl that’d go full-hands on with a Ghoul, and he loved it…but at the same time, if bad decisions were being made, he preferred to be the one to make them. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, admiring the way the neon caught the wetness on her lips from their battling. “Goddamn,” Hancock breathed, pushing her off his lap and onto her back on the mattress, pulling her panties off and tossing them blindly away.</p><p>    Yvette, meanwhile, had tried to pull her shirt off and gotten caught in the fabric, swearing in breathy whispers with her arms and face trapped and breasts on display. Hancock grabbed for them, growling as he squeezed--they were soft, impossibly soft, <em>fantastically</em> soft, overflowing his grip. He bent his head down and fastened his lips on one nipple, sucking hard, rolling it with his tongue. Yvette’s hips bucked, nearly throwing him off but he held on, pressed down with his body, ready to smother himself between her breasts.</p><p>    “<em>Je-e-ean!”</em></p><p>    Hancock laughed at the frustrated whimper, raising up just enough to pull the shirt off her completely and cast it into the neon and darkness. There was a joke on his lips; it died at the look on her face. She looked at him like she <em>wanted</em> him, really <em>needed</em> him; and then she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss, thighs sprawled and already clawing at his back through his own shirt. It was like she couldn’t get enough of kissing him…and truth-be-told, he couldn’t get enough of being kissed. Really<em> kissed--</em>mouth to mouth, tongues and teeth, cheek-to-cheek; something that hadn’t happened in earnest since he’d gone Ghoul. So Hancock relished it, the strength of her tongue, the fight between their mouths as he got a hand between their bodies and felt the coarse curls of her bush. He would’ve counted it as sweat if his exploring fingers didn’t slip right in, fast and sudden. She was <em>soaking</em>, startling him with the intensity of it, the heat of her pussy as it bore down on his fingers.</p><p>    That broke him; he should take his time, savor the chance, get her on his fingers and tongue; but it was all too much. Hancock reached behind him, grabbing for the laces at his waist to pull the knot and get them loose*. When there was enough slack, he pushed them down just enough to get his cock free, giving it a couple of pumps just to really ensure he was as ready as Yvette felt. Her hand, her beautiful graceful hand closed around his shaft and pulled as she raised her hips up.</p><p>    “Don’t worry beautiful, I know where I’m going.” Hancock rasped, digging his fingers into her thigh to grip it, relish the strength in it as he pressed it away from its partner so there was plenty of room to maneuver. She was hot, ragingly hot, scalding his cock as he slipped past her soft lips and deep into her body.</p><p>    “<em>Jean!” </em>She hooked her free leg around his waist, heel of her foot nailing the back of his thigh hard; the pain shocked him for a second but it also drove him as deep as he could go; he was deep as he could go, feeling her pulse on every inch of his cock.</p><p>    “<em>Yvette</em>…” Hancock moaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck as his hips pistoned wildly; it was mad and uncoordinated and unthinking, he was an animal rutting. There was a brief bout of shame for the lack of care he was taking; but then her nails struggled for purchase on his back, pulling at his shirt, her hips bucked, and her pussy squeezed tight enough to nearly push him out. Hancock bit her for that, hard, sucking and worrying the skin, hands going to her hips to hold her down and fight his way all the way back in.</p><p>    Both of her legs locked around his waist, both arms around him, clinging for dear life and forcing him to grind and rut deep inside. Yvette’s face was screwed up in pain and desire, mouth open, unable to bite back the breathy, deep-throated moans that came for every thrust. Hancock kissed her open mouth as his sac drew up and his stomach tensed. “Coming for you beautiful--coming for you!” he gasped out as the first wave of his orgasm came hard.</p><p>    “<em>Yes!”</em> The joy in her cry was unmistakable.</p><p>    Hancock growled, rocking his hips as he shot what felt like years worth of cum into her eager pussy. He kept thrusting until his cock was too soft to do it without bending; it was a struggle to get Yvette’s thighs open, to get her to let go of him enough to pull out and back so he could shove his fingers in and pump them instead. He watched her face as her head twisted from side to side, burying his fingers deep, heel of his palm against her clit to grind against it as his fingers dug at her flesh. He fingered her roughly, desperate to hear that one loud, joyful noise again.</p><p>    When it did, her eyes opened, locking on his face, both hands grabbing his wrist to either keep him in place or push him away, it was hard to tell. He kept his curled fingers busy until she relaxed with a whimper. Hancock pulled his fingers free to look at them; wet to his wrist, his own cum mixed with her slickness amusing him until it hit him hard and mean--a steady tick-tick-tick from the nightstand--the Pip-Boy, and its heartbreaking geiger counter.</p><p>    “<em>Fuck</em>…” Reality was a mean bitch, like sobriety. “Yvette? Beautiful? C’mon sweetheart, gotta clean you up.” he murmured, trying to pull his pants up one-handed and shake her awake with the other.</p><p>    Yvette murmured something and tried to roll onto her side, nestling into the mattress the way she did when she was good and settled to sleep.</p><p>    “Aw <em>hell, </em>beautiful…” Hancock groaned. He should’ve pulled out, should’ve unloaded in his fist like a smart guy. Starting an IV on Yvette wouldn’t be <em>too</em> hard with her out like this, but RadAway wasn’t gentle, especially after a party. “Really fucked this up tonight.” he sighed, easing off the bed to go to the little bathroom and get a towel. Hard or not, cleanup had to happen, one way or the other.</p><p> </p><p>    Hancock debated sleeping on the floor; not that much temptation on the floor. It would also probably go a long way to making up for what happened. But as he watched the last drops slide down the IV into Yvette’s arm, and the serenity on her face, he knew he wouldn’t. She could boot his ass out of the bed when she woke up, black his eye knocking him out of the room; it wasn’t any less than he deserved, and he was already in for the penny. He did cheat a little with a nice dose of Med-X to calm the nerves; waking up to a punch after a dreamless sleep was <em>much </em>better than waking up punched on top of dreams.</p><p> </p><p>    The smell of coffee and not a punch startled him awake. Hancock realized he was alone in the bed, but not in the room. Yvette stood at the dresser, babysitting a coffeepot over a can of Sterno, gloriously naked in the daylight streaming through the dirty window. It took his breath away.</p><p>    Audibly, apparently, because she turned, looking back at him over her shoulder. “It’s almost ready.” she said softly.</p><p>    Hancock’s heart was in his throat. A punch would’ve been better. A kick. A stick in a non-vital area. Anything but an impossible-to-read look over the shoulder. “Yvette…” he didn’t know what to say.</p><p>    She didn’t seem to be listening either, busy at the dresser, bending beautifully to blow the can out once the coffee was ready. Yvette turned around with two cups in her hand--</p><p>
  <em>    Hot coffee on the dick would be better than the look, but less good than a stick</em>
</p><p>    --and came to the bed, sitting on the edge and offering him one.</p><p>    Hancock took it from her and made the mistake of trying to drink immediately; with the burn he tasted whiskey and cherry. Her cup from last night; that happened sometimes between them, when they shared supplies.</p><p>    Yvette raised an eyebrow, blowing on her coffee before setting it on the nightstand. “<em>Jean</em>, about last night--”</p><p>    “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, beautiful--I told you I’m not a good man and damned if I didn’t prove--” Hancock started, but found himself silenced by her hand on his mouth. Not the fingertips, her whole goddamn hand. She took his coffee cup away, setting it beside her own.</p><p>    “You were <em>magnifique--</em>don’t take that away from me.” Yvette said softly. “I was going to say ‘I’m sorry’…I shouldn’t have--I mean…” Words failing, she let her hand come away from his mouth slowly, fingertips trailing down his chin before leaving his face entirely.</p><p>    “Shouldn’t have what, beautiful? Clue me in, because I’m struggling here.” Hancock rasped as a strange, fearful feeling tightened his throat.</p><p>    “Told you that I love you. Even if it is the truth, even if it is what I feel deep in my heart. It was not fair, it was not right. I cannot even blame the alcohol because I feel it sober. That love is why I am here…my heart broken into a million little pieces, my world destroyed <em>again</em>, but I come here because I love you and I can not think clearly where else to go but to where is my love. And then I cannot resist trying to make love, because I am drunk and broken and needing you.” A couple of tears rolled down her cheeks, and she brushed them away quickly.</p><p>    Saying ‘I love you’ when drunk or stoned, it’s just words. Might mean something, usually means nothing. The same thing, stone cold sober with the smell of coffee in the air? There wasn’t an easy way to brush it off. Hancock was flabbergasted. Making love?<em> Needed</em>? It was more than he <em>ever</em> deserved.</p><p>    “I am sorry <em>Jean</em>.” she repeated.</p><p>    “Stop saying that.” Hancock managed to get out. “Yvette--beautiful--look at me. I mean <em>really</em> look at me.” he grabbed her chin in case he had to force the eye contact. It wasn’t necessary, as her eyes met his and didn’t waver, but he didn’t let go. “I’m a royal fuck-up. The <em>king</em> of fuck-ups. A no-good, murdering, junkie user with great taste in clothes. You <em>know</em> why I look like this--what I did, what I was trying to do. I disappoint people, always. It’s the one thing I can consistently do--you don’t <em>deserve</em> that, you don’t <em>deserve</em> a fuck-up like me. There’s nobody in the fucking Commonwealth, probably nobody left in the whole fucking world who’d be good enough for you, but just about anybody would be better than me.”</p><p>    Yvette pushed his hand down abruptly, eyes hard. Hancock tensed, waiting for some kind of swears, even the pretty kind, but all she did was moved closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose hole. “You drink. You smoke. You chem like a fiend. Yes.” she said matter-of-factly. “You wheel. You deal. Bribe, lie, occasionally steal. Yes.” she added.</p><p>    “Doesn’t sound as bad when <em>you</em> say it.” Hancock replied, trying to make a joke. Trying anything to break the tension or get to the end.</p><p>    Yvette grabbed his chin, holding it like he held hers earlier. “You <em>protect</em>. You defend. You fight, and you live, and you laugh, and you have been my friend when I was lost and unsure. You can <em>never</em> convince me that you will disappoint me in some unforgivable way, because deep down, under all the swagger and the bravado and the jokes, you are a better man than you ever give yourself credit for. I love you in spite of your loathing, <em>Jean</em>, and you will have to break my heart worse than it has been broken yet to convince me otherwise.”</p><p>    Slowly, carefully, Hancock pulled her hand down, catching it in both of his. He unfolded her hand, traced the lines on her palm, then brought it up to his face to kiss those lines and press them to his cheek. Right then, in that instant, he couldn’t contend what the hell he could do to break her heart that badly--and that there was a piece big enough still for her to offer to him was blowing his mind. “I’m yours, beautiful. To the end, whatever it looks like.”</p><p>    She smiled, leaning in and kissing him slow and sweet.</p><p>    “I’m never gonna get tired of that.” Hancock murmured, feeling a stir in his pants.</p><p>    Yvette didn’t answer, only rolled her tongue along his, sliding her hand along his cheek to the back of his head to hold him in place.</p><p>    Hancock’s hands went immediately to her breasts; he couldn’t help it. He loved a good double-handful of softness, and relished the way she pushed them into his palms. As they kissed, and he teased her plump nipples with his thumbs, it struck him that it was broad daylight, this was a much softer moment, and she was sober.</p><p>    That stopped him, and he pulled away. “So…you’re sober right now?”</p><p>
  <em>    He was an idiot why in the hell did he just say that</em>
</p><p>    She nodded. “<em>Oui</em>. Why?”</p><p>    Hancock hesitated. “Just uh…asking, is all.”</p><p>    Yvette gave her low, throaty laugh. “I might be a little slower to finish this time. Now you see why I don’t drink.”</p><p>    “Wine doesn’t count?” Hancock teased. “Slower I can--wait, I should get more RadAw--</p><p>    She darted forward, taking his mouth again until they were both breathless. “I have more in my pack, and it would be nice to really <em>earn</em> it. <em>Tu comprendes?</em>” She said, giving him a heated look.</p><p>    Hancock licked his lips. “You’re my kinda crazy.” he kissed her again as she moved to straddle his lap. A few more rounds here, then pay the caps and head for his bed in the Statehouse; that was a good plan. What came after? That was shit to worry about on a different day…</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompted by an old Kinktober list I originally saved to inspire smut. Probably put way too much plot into what should've been a smut-shot but sometimes that's just how the muse goes, lol </p><p>I haven't had a French class since my sophomore year of college [I switched to German] so trying to translate 'Of the people, for the people' in a way that made sense was a struggle. If any native French speakers who played FO4 in French would like to correct me, please do (but be kind)</p><p>*About Hancock's pants: I spent way too long googling what would've been an appropriate pants closure for Revolutionary times (seeing as his threads are at least museum quality). Turns out, pants and breeches are two different subjects and several different kinds of closure-styles! Who knew? After staring at Hancock for too long (is there a 'too long' when it's your favorite Ghoul?) I decided they were pants, and pants at that time could be closed by what was essentially a drawstring at the back. Convenient, right?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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